


when my baby puts their mouth on me

by neomeruru



Series: All Stick, No Carrot [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Barebacking, Cockwarming, Face-Fucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Objectification, Painful Sex, Partner sharing, Polyamory, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 12:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16218941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: It's been a long few weeks—a long few years, really—and the strain and guilt is showing on Ignis and Noctis's relationship. Gladio has an idea for how to provide the both of them a little relief.(The idea again, involves fucking up Ignis. Just a little.)





	when my baby puts their mouth on me

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place about a week or so after the last in the series, and it's suggested you read that one first. If you decide not to, the gist of it is that Noctis and Ignis are in a romantic relationship but are slightly sexually incompatible, as Ignis wants to be more submissive than Noctis is comfortable with. In the last story, Gladio helps out by doing a prenegotiated "noncon" fantasy with Ignis.
> 
> Again, this story made possible by the intense cheerleading of the Ignis Whump discord. Thanks, guys!!

Ignis is pacing.

This, in itself, is nothing new. Ignis has a variety of stress-induced tics including, but not limited to: pacing, tapping his foot, picking his hangnails, cleaning his glasses, stress baking, and, on the very rare occasion, smoking. Gladio prefers running, himself, but to each his own.

Noct's apartment provides ample space for pacing. It's a full twenty steps from the entryway to the bedrooms; fifteen or more if Ignis paces around the dining room table instead, depending on how tight he takes his corners. Not like Gladio's counting. It's just… something he's aware of, the same way he's aware of the intensity of the rain outside, or Noct's expression changing as he taps away at his phone nearby. 

It's just one of those nights. Ignis is over at Noct's more often than not, these days. It's either some new bullshit with the Council, or some new bullshit about the war, or recently it's been Noct's university entrance exams, all three of which somehow involve Ignis staying late to… do whatever Ignis does that keeps Noctis on his feet and both of them looking so fuckin' dreary, day in, day out. Gladio wonders how they even have time for fucking any more. Shit, well, maybe they don't even do that; he's been over for hours over the course of dinner and studying, and he hasn't seen more than a passing touch between them.

Ignis finishes a lap of the table and pauses, rubbing the back of his calf with his foot while he flips through the pages of the report in his hands. "You mention a link between modern refugee resettlement and mandatory labour camps on page three, but your explanation is spurious at best," he says, not looking up from the pages. "You can't simply leave a controversial link such as that unremarked upon, not with General Calixo agitating for increased recruitment among refugees. You'll be eaten alive."

Noct puts down his phone, exhaling heavily, and picks up his pencil to make a note. "Fuck… Calixo's… predatory… recruitment policies…" he intones as he writes, then puts down his pencil again. Ignis takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, but the look on his face is resigned to agreement.

"As much as that may be the case, Noctis, we shall have to find a more tactful way to express your opinion. Give me a few more minutes with this, and I may come up with something."

"The Galahdian Minister—"

"—is far too underwater to fight something for which her people have been clamoring for months, regardless of the ramifications. She is a pawn on the current board; you will require the clout of someone with a bit more—" Ignis stops, putting both feet on the floor. He snaps the papers in his hand. "I may have something. Talk amongst yourselves."

Ignis retreats into the second bedroom, pulling out his phone and putting it to his ear. "Good evening, Melusina," he says as he closes the door, "I was wondering if you might put me in touch with Councilwoman Orion…yes, my apologies, I know it is quite late..."

As the door closes and muffles the rest of Ignis's conversation, Gladio shoots a look over at Noctis. Noct is staring blankly at his phone, thumb unmoving; as Gladio watches, the light of the screen reflected on Noct's face dims, then disappears. Finally, Noctis sets his phone down with a sigh and rubs his fingers into his eyes.

"I'm hungry again," he mumbles.

Gladio looks away and makes a mark on his own paper, an essay for a class he'll be glad to have behind him. "Get it yourself," he replies.

Noctis makes an unimpressed noise. "Yeah, no shit," he says, standing from the table. He shuffles over to the kitchen and pulls out a bowl, and then cereal, and then the milk, moving around the kitchen like he's already asleep.

Ignis still hasn't returned by the time Noctis sits again at the table, bowl piled high with cereal. Noctis doesn't pick up his phone or his notes again, choosing apparently instead to stare off into the middle distance as he mechanically shovels food in his mouth.

Gladio caps his pen. "What's going on, nerd?" he asks.

Noctis takes his time chewing and swallowing before answering. "Nothing. It's fine."

Another long pause. Gladio waits, letting Noctis come to it to fill the expectant silence. Gladio has inadvertently learned a lot by being big and quiet.

"Just…" Noct says finally, gesturing to the table strewn with reports and essays and memos to the Crown Prince. "...it's this. All this. Every time I finish something, there's five more things."

Noct's eyes flick over to the closed guest room door, then back down at his cereal. "I don't know how to make it go away."

Anyone else, they'd look at Noctis and think, _you lazy little shit_. Truthfully, that's Gladio most of the time as well, but that's part of his job: drag Noctis to the starting line, kicking and screaming if necessary. Help make him into someone worth giving his life for, eventually. He's resented the kid. Hated him sometimes, too. You have to dig deep sometimes to find the tiny little kernel of the person Noctis is gonna be, the person he _is_ under all that bullshit he wraps around himself.

When he lets it show, it's easy to miss.

Ignis makes it easier to see. Ignis makes most everything better, including Gladio, but Noctis most of all. Gladio knows that now, much better than he used to. Maybe that's age. Maybe that's none of them being teenage idiots anymore. Noctis, just shy of nineteen, gets a pass; he's had to grow up a lot in the past couple years, with the war and all. And that's a lot of Ignis's work too: Ignis, steadily chewing through Noctis's burdens, generating a workload growing in increments like the tutorial in a video game. Ignis, always in front of it, doing more.

Noctis doesn't want the work to go away because he's lazy. At least, that's not all of it. He wants it to go away because he fucking _knows_ now, knows how much work the people around him are doing just to prop him up.

Gladio watches Noctis a few more minutes. There's no sign of Ignis from the guest room; either a good omen, or a bad one. Finally, Gladio closes his textbook with his paper inside.

"Let me do something," Gladio says, and Noctis startles to attention.

"Like what?"

"Something like before," Gladio replies, and Noctis slowly sets his spoon into his bowl and lays his hands flat on the table.

It feels like it takes forever before he answers. "Can I stay?" Noctis asks.

"If you want."

Noctis purses his lips. "Then… not as hard as last time," he says, carefully. "Don't hurt him."

Gladio makes a 'just a little bit' gesture with his fingers and Noctis rolls his eyes, but then Ignis is coming out of the bedroom, phone in hand.

"Good news on that front, I'm happy to share," Ignis announces. "Noctis, you'll have a face-to-face with the Councilwoman tomorrow morning: strategies for the wedge you'll form to use against Calixo and the rest of the Council. I expect in return she'll want your favour on her import tax reform…"

"I don't know anything about that," Noctis interrupts, and Ignis holds up a placating hand.

"We'll have you up to speed by tomorrow," he promises. He removes his pen from his inside vest pocket and makes notes on Noctis's report, crossing out huge swathes. "Much of this will need to be rewritten to foreshadow the maneuver so it appears more credible, but…" he begins to pace again, tapping the end of the pen on his lips, "...it should be the work of an hour, perhaps, less if you'll allow me to assist in the wording so I'm not having to rewrite it afterwards."

Gladio shoots Noctis a look. His expression is… miserable, resigned. "Yeah, of course," he mumbles, pushing cereal around in his bowl. "Thanks, Specs."

Ignis's hand alights tenderly on Noct's shoulder, gone again as he passes. "It's my pleasure, my love."

Ignis barely registers Gladio rising from the table, neatly sidestepping the chair moved into his orbit. Gladio goes into the kitchen and fills his water glass from the fridge, with extra ice so it practically overflows. He returns and sits, not pulling his chair in so Ignis has to keep walking around him.

"Hey, Iggy," he says, sipping his water. "Let me take a look at that."

Ignis stops in his pacing, turning to look at Gladio with his brow drawn. "Whyever for?"

Gladio shrugs one shoulder. "I know Calixo," he says. "I might think of something you missed."

Ignis seems at war with this knowledge, his ego at odds with his need to _utterly destroy_ Noct's enemies. "A wise idea, thank you," he eventually concedes, and hands Gladio the report.

Gladio takes it with one hand, and holds out his glass to Ignis with the other. Ignis takes it smoothly, practiced, practically before Gladio even has to ask: "Hold this for me, hmm?"

Ignis's mouth turns down into a frown as he realizes what he's done, and moves to put the glass down on the table.

"Don't," Gladio stops him, "There's papers everywhere, I don't want them to get wet. Just hold it for me."

Ignis inhales through his nose—not a sigh, rarely from Ignis, who's carefully trained himself out of exasperation after so many years with Noctis. But he stands there, awkwardly holding Gladio's glass for a few long minutes as Gladio thumbs through the report.

He's not reading it. That's not the point.

Eventually, Ignis shifts in impatience. "And how long am I to hold your drink for you, Gladio?" he asks.

Gladio licks his thumb and turns a page. Without looking up, he says, "Until I fuckin' say so, Iggy."

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Noctis go still, his spoon frozen in mid-air before he slowly brings it back up to his mouth, watching them with wide eyes as he chews. And at his other side, the infuriated calm of a strategist who's just realized he's already two moves behind the game.

"I—" Ignis starts, but Gladio holds up his finger in a quelling motion. "You—" Ignis tries again, but this time Gladio pinches his fingers and hisses, _ssh_.

Mortification and arousal radiates off of Ignis in waves as his gaze darts between Gladio and Noctis. It's fucking _delicious_. Gladio savours it as he flips the report closed and puts it on the table, retrieving his textbook and opening it to his paper. He scans it performatively, as Ignis winds himself up more tightly by his side.

"May I sit, at least?" Ignis asks, finally.

This time, Gladio does look up. He flicks his eyes over Ignis dismissively, taking in the red splotchiness high on his cheeks and the solid cut of his stance. "You don't have to stand," he says.

 _Give a man enough rope to hang_ , he thinks, as Ignis pulls a chair out with his foot and makes to sit.

"Mmm," Gladio hums, turning back to his paper. Ignis pauses, and rises to stand again. "That's a choice."

There's a few long moments where the only sound is the rain against the windows. Slowly, Ignis drops to one knee, and then the other, his back as straight as the hands carefully holding Gladio's glass. A bead of water breaks free from the surface tension and slides down the side of the glass, tracing the outline of Ignis's fingertips.

Gladio takes the glass from him then, and drinks his fill before putting it back in Ignis's hands. "The next time you talk, it's because you're telling me you want to be Ignis again. Got it?"

Ignis is silent, though his mouth twitches with the effort.

"Answer," Gladio orders, and Ignis bows his head.

"Yes, Gladiolus," he says, contrite.

Noctis shifts forward in his seat, craning his neck to see Ignis kneeling on the floor at Gladio's side, then shoots Gladio an incredulous look. "No fucking way," he breathes, as if it can't be that easy.

It is that easy, though. Just because Noctis won't, or doesn't feel comfortable or whatever, that doesn't change what Ignis wants. What Ignis _is_. Ignis wants to be _known_ with an intensity it almost blinds Gladio to look at and not see him have. And Gladio doesn't know him, not completely, but he likes Ignis, and he pays attention. He listens when Ignis doesn't speak.

So he lets Ignis kneel there on the hardwood floor, holding his glass like a gods-damned offering, and he ignores the living, breathing man who's put himself at Gladio's unknowable mercy for a second time.

"What else is on your list for tonight?" Gladio asks Noctis, who jerks to attention again.

"Uh…" he stalls, visibly thinking. "That report, uh. Ignis was gonna proofread my entrance essay, so…"

"'Because I'm the gods-damned Prince,'" Gladio intones, marking out the words in the air like a theatre marquee. He takes the glass from Ignis again and drinks. Noctis watches him swallow.

"Yeah… I'm trying not to do that…" he says.

Gladio shrugs and puts the glass back into Ignis's hands, barely even looking. Ignis only fumbles a little, expecting more care than Gladio thinks he needs. "I can do that," he says. "You work on the report, I'll proofread your essay."

He slides the report over to Noctis to transcribe the edits into his laptop, and Noctis passes over the printed copy of his essay. Gladio uncaps his red pen and settles back in his chair, legs crossed with one ankle over his knee. Ignis doesn't so much as crane his head to read; good for him.

Noct's a passable writer—not enough to write his own speeches or anything someday, but it's alright. Gladio corrects a few inconsistent tenses and cuts down a few run-on sentences, finding himself getting into it. So into it, actually, that it's significantly more than a few minutes before Ignis shifts on his knees and reminds Gladio to reinforce the scene.

The glass, when he takes it, is sweaty from condensation. "Ugh," he groans, making Noctis look up with interest. Ignis's head remains bowed. "My water's all warm."

Noct looks confused, and Ignis's shoulders go tense. Gladio waits, projecting as much patience as he can muster—he wants to see what Ignis will do.

As if moving through a dream, Ignis gracefully lowers himself to hands and knees. He braces his arms, his shoulders and back straight. Gladio shoots a smirk at Noctis, who looks stunned, as he finds the balance point of the glass between Ignis's shoulderblades. "That's better," he says, listening for Ignis's pleased exhale.

There's honestly not that much to proofread; Ignis has clearly had a hand in developing Noctis's key arguments, so the rest is just dressing. Besides, Ignis will probably need to have a look at it anyway, for peace of mind, so he doesn't put much effort into finishing. He's more interested in the stable line of Ignis's back as he waits on his hands and knees, the ideal little side table. His breathing is slow and steady, barely causing the glass to tip from side to side. In a word, he's perfection.

But he's not done yet. It's barely been twenty minutes, not long enough to get Ignis down where he wants him.

He drinks; the glass leaves a wet ring in the dove grey silk of Ignis's vest. "How're you and Ignis doing, these days?" Gladio pries, just before replacing the glass on Ignis. When he does, he can't help but smile that the topography of Ignis's muscles has changed _significantly_.

"We're… fine," Noctis replies slowly. The glass wobbles.

"That so?" Gladio asks. "No weird fallout from the other day?"

"No," Noctis says, this time quickly. "That was fine. More than fine. It was good."

"I'm glad to hear it," Gladio says, resting his hand on the small of Ignis's back and rubbing a little circle with his thumb. "Where is Ignis, anyway? He's usually here."

Noct looks stricken. "Uh, shit, uh…" he stammers, going red in the face.

Gladio smirks. "Whatever, doesn't matter. I've been meaning to talk to you alone, anyway."

"You… have?"

"Yeah, of course," Gladio replies. "Ignis—look, Ignis is fuckin' perfect. You know that. Now, I know that. He's gorgeous, responsive, and his ass is…" Gladio pauses long enough to look skyward, "...it's incredible. His ass is the Astrals' gift to mankind. If you're not hitting that, you are losing out."

Ignis is holding his breath. Gladio strokes down his side, comfortingly.

"I… I'm on top, sometimes," Noctis says, looking defensive.

"Yeah, but…" Gladio fixes Noctis with a look of deep disbelief, "...are you? Really?"

Noctis crosses his arms. "Gladio, I don't… I don't like that stuff. That's why—"

"Don't like, or don't know how to do it?" Gladio interrupts, and Noctis opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish instead of responding. Gladio presses his advantage. "Because I can teach you a few things."

"I don't want to hurt him," Noctis says, stubbornly, and Gladio's cup jerks so alarmingly that he has to snatch it before it topples right off Ignis's shoulders.

"Don't gotta hurt him," Gladio says, replacing the cup with a firm hand. The flat plane of Ignis's back heaves slowly, stilling when Gladio presses the cold bottom of the cup into it. "Lots of stuff you can do that doesn't hurt him."

"Like…" Noctis starts, then trails off, eyes drawn to Ignis on the floor.

"Mmhmm," Gladio hums, stroking the length of Ignis's back before resting his hand on his hip again. "It's not always about pain."

"I… I know," Noctis says, looking down into his bowl with his shoulders drawn in. "It's about… power. That's what he told me, but…." He makes an exasperated noise under his breath. "It's dumb."

"What is? Him wanting it?"

"No!" Noctis says, "He's fine. I just… can't… I don't want him to… _serve_ me even more, you know? I don't want that kind of power over him."

"Oh, Noctis," Gladio chuckles. Under his hand, Ignis is warm all the way through the layers of his shirt. "You really, really don't have it."

Noctis is unresponsive to that, sullen. He crosses his arms and slouches in his chair.

"How do you think this works? I just do whatever I want?" Gladio presses, "Get this through your royal skull, Your Highness: you only ever have that kinda power over people because they _give_ it to you. It's not yours. Everything I did with Ignis that night was because he wanted it, because he _lent_ me that power over him. Getting off? Man, that's a _side effect_."

Noct's eyes have gone wide, like when Gladio really tears a strip out of him in the ring. "You got it?" Gladio asks, and Noctis nods. "If you don't _like_ it, that's fine. Shit, I'm always gonna be here, and it ain't no hardship to give it to someone like Ignis. But if you're just being a chickenshit, well..."

Gladio takes the glass from Ignis, noting how his back sags when he does. "...I ain't gonna stand for that. Ignis deserves better."

He raises his glass to his lips and drains it as Noctis bristles before him, humiliated, looking like Gladio's just dumped a pail of ice on his head. Good. Sometimes Noctis gets the carrot, but sometimes he needs to get beat with the stick in order to get angry and focus on what's right in front of him.

"You want me to stop?" Gladio asks, putting the glass down on the table—the actual table, the one made of wood and not a person.

Noctis's hands clench against the tabletop. "No. I'm watching."

"Good," Gladio says, and pulls the ties to his sweatpants so he can push them down enough to get his hand in. "Because I'm gettin' hard thinking about it now, and I wanna do something about it."

Ignis goes easily when Gladio gets a big handful of his hair and pulls him up to kneeling. He tugs Ignis by the hair until he's turned around, bracketed by Gladio's knees, and with his other hand he tucks the band of his sweatpants under his dick and gives himself a few warm-up strokes.

Ignis, blessed by the Astrals themselves with insight, gets the point right away—he doesn't take his heavily-lidded eyes off of Gladio's cock, doesn't talk, barely moves except to wet his lips and let his mouth fall open. Gladio pumps his cock in front of Ignis's face, and reaches down to squeeze his balls and groan, putting on a bit of a show. Truthfully, nah, he wasn't that hard when he started—if he'd popped a boner every time he'd thought about Ignis in the past week, he'd have been roasted so hard by half the Citadel he'd never recover from the burns—but with the actual man on his knees in front of him, all the memories come flooding back and fill his senses with _Ignis_.

Pre-come beads from the slit of his dick as he squeezes himself, and Ignis makes the slightest _nngh_ noise under his breath at the sight.

Noct's chair screeches across the floor as he drags himself around the table so he can watch Ignis on pillowed arms. He looks riveted, and just as pink-cheeked as Ignis, as he presses his knuckles to his lips and watches in silence.

Ignis isn't moving himself anywhere, but when Gladio applies pressure to the back of his head he leans forward enough to break the bead of pre-come against his lips, kissing the head of Gladio's cock as his eyes flutter closed. Gladio lets him do that—the view ain't half-bad—for a few minutes, watching just Ignis's lips distend obscenely around his cock as he sucks.

Gladio's a talker, so it feels impossible not to comment on Ignis when he's on his knees for him. He contents himself instead with touching his thumb between Ignis's closed eyes, smoothing out the crease there left by stress. Ignis's brow cinches, then goes slack under the reminder of his touch. Gladio strokes outward, caressing Ignis's fine-boned features until he comes back around to the side of Ignis's head and slowly, inexorably, exerts enough pressure to feed the rest of his cock into Ignis's mouth.

Gladio sighs in pleasure at Ignis's mouth surrounding him, the warm, welcoming heat of him like sinking into a hot bath and feeling every one of his muscles relax at once. There's a bit of resistance when his cock hits the bend of Ignis's throat, but Ignis shifts and then it's gone, and Gladio's sunk right to the hilt in him.

Gladio laughs, surprised to find himself a little breathless already. _Taking_ it last time was good, guiding him is even better—Gladio can only imagine how, one day, he might get to let Ignis off the leash and get the full force of Ignis's skill and attention. Not today, though; today, Gladio keeps that metaphorical leash wrapped tightly around his fist, and uses his grip on Ignis's hair to guide him into a steady, sustainable rhythm. 

"Whoa," Noct mutters.

"What," Gladio says, pushing Ignis's head down and holding him for a few seconds. "You didn't know it could do this?"

Ignis tenses immediately, a shudder coursing through him as he makes a _ghhk_ noise around Gladio's cock. His eyes open and he looks up at Gladio, who quickly tears his gaze away, but in the afterimage Gladio can see the open, helpless desire written there.

Instead he looks at Noct, who's surreptitiously slipped one hand under the table. The rest of him's still bent over the tabletop and his other folded arm, as if he could get any closer without getting on Gladio's dick himself.

Now, there's an idea. Gladio's got zero sexual interest in a scrawny punkass like Noctis, prince or no, but—zero's not a _negative_ number. Gladio's a warm-blooded guy; he's started at zero before. Just… maybe not tonight. He doesn't want to upset this whole apple cart for want of another mouth, when Ignis is so perfect already, and so in need of someone's full attention.

That, Gladio's happy to give, even if he has to pretend like he's not. He doesn't thrust into Ignis's mouth so much as he uses it to jack off, fisting his hand in Ignis's hair and bobbing him up and down on his cock like a toy. Ignis keeps his throat tilted open, letting Gladio fuck him deep and slow, an achingly hot slide from root to tip that quickly has Gladio shifting in his seat as Ignis brings him closer to completion.

It's an effort to speak. "You mind if I come on it?" he grits out, and Noctis just groans and nods, his hand working faster under the table.

It's different than before, when he had Ignis suffering on his cock. That was fun for its own reasons, but Ignis going all pliant right from the start is good in its own way. He's not trying to take Ignis anywhere, doesn't want to strip him of anything and expose the parts underneath—he wants Ignis to go down right where he already is.

When he feels the end rise up to meet him, it comes to him like a wave rolling over the shore: steady, unstoppable, suffusing him with a tension that threatens to break as he holds Ignis close, wringing out every last tender pleasure from the incredible clutch of his throat. In short order, though, it's inevitable. With a groan he pulls Ignis off his cock and strokes himself to release into his open, waiting mouth, Ignis's face reverently turned up to him. Pearls of come splatter his tongue—his teeth, his lips, up across one fine red cheekbone—and pool in the back of his throat.

Clinging to the last vestiges of how fuckin' hard he is for Ignis right now, he shoves his softening cock into the mess and Ignis closes his lips around it, sucking as he swallows Gladio's spend. He licks Gladio's cock clean—perfect, attentive and obedient, even to the way he lays his head on Gladio's thigh when guided, Gladio's fully soft cock still in his mouth.

Ignis sighs through his nose and settles against Gladio's leg. His eyes flutter open when Gladio runs his knuckles down the side of his face, but Gladio touches them lightly, coaxing him to rest there with a quiet _sssh_. He cups his hand behind Ignis's head to support him, shifting until they're both arranged comfortably. Ignis's tongue flexes against the underside of his cock—a good mouthful now that it's soft, Gladio thinks—before going still.

Gladio picks up Noctis's essay again with his free hand, scanning it with disinterest. At his side, Noctis's hand falters, then stops when Gladio's eyes flick over to fix him with a pointed look.

"You finished making those edits yet?" Gladio goads him.

The prince's eyes go wide with surprise, quickly transforming into frustration. "I thought—"

Gladio snaps the paper in his hand. "Don't make Ignis have to do it later."

Noctis's nostrils flare, but he snakes his hand back out of his pants and shuffles his chair around to face his laptop. "Asshole," he grumbles under his breath as he pecks at the keyboard.

Gladio barely manages not to laugh, covering up his snort with a cough as he gently scratches Ignis's scalp. Ignis is unmoved, attentively silent in the cradle of Gladio's thighs.

It's about fifteen minutes of Noctis going between Ignis's edits and his laptop, muttering to himself. In that time, Gladio can feel Ignis travel through the stages of his patience: at first, alert enough to focus in on Gladio when he moves even slightly, then, after a few minutes of Gladio's indifference, the tension starts to creep back into his brow.

He suckles Gladio's still-soft member, tentatively, stymied when Gladio touches the side of his face and stills him again. Gladio can practically _feel_ Ignis arrive at the point of frustration quickly after that, the long minutes of idle service grating on him—no magic button to press, no words to say, no clear path to follow to complete his task. Just Gladio, inscrutable, and Ignis no closer to any reward than minutes before.

Gladio puts the paper down after letting Ignis really get deep into it, and uses his free hand to pet Ignis's hair and down his neck to his shoulder: long, soothing strokes, something for Ignis to focus on. As slow as glacial melt, the tension ebbs again and Ignis goes truly slack against him, trance-like. His breathing slows as if he's asleep, belied only by the small motions of his thumb stroking Gladio's ankle.

"Good boy," Gladio murmurs, and Ignis sighs in pleasure.

They sit like that until Noctis finishes his task—just the rain against the windows, the tap of the keyboard, the hum of the refrigerator and Ignis, finally at rest.

Eventually, Noctis closes his laptop with a definitive _click_. "There," he says, testily. "I'm done. Can I touch my boyfriend _now_?"

Noctis pushes his chair back from the table, making a screech against the floor that startles Ignis out of his reverie. Instantly, Ignis snaps to attention under Gladio's hands. Gladio lets him go, cupping his wet dick in his hand and tucking himself back in his sweats as Ignis blinks blearily back to the present.

As much as he wants to school Noctis on the whole point of getting Ignis down where he wants to be and _keeping him there_ , he very maturely takes a deep breath and reminds himself that castigating their charge would only wind Ignis back up more quickly. "Good for you," he drawls instead. "We should celebrate. Don't you have the new Solheim Warriors game?"

"Yeah, but—" Noctis sputters, before Ignis clears his throat.

"I'm afraid... there's more to do tonight," Ignis says, his voice thick and wet far back in his throat. "Noctis should—"

Gladio silences him with a finger to Ignis's lips. "Footstools don't talk," he says.

Ignis's eyes are wide when he looks up at Gladio from the floor, his brow drawn in concern. Gladio can practically see his duty and his desire do battle across his face as he searches Gladio's gaze, weighing his need against Noctis's. After this long, Gladio knows which one usually wins, which is why it's perfect that Noctis chooses that exact moment to finally twig on to what Gladio's trying to do.

"Actually, yeah, sounds great," Noctis says, rising jerkily to his feet. "Um, I'll go get it started."

Noct's apartment isn't so big that he actually _leaves_ , but as his footsteps retreat into the living area, Ignis slumps against Gladio's leg.

Gladio cups Ignis's face in his hands and leans in to press a chaste kiss to his lips, then the bridge of his nose, his forehead, the part of his hair. "Perfect," he says there, and rises to stand as well.

He holds his hand out to Ignis. "Crawl, or…?" he says, quietly.

Ignis is still a few moments, closing and opening one hand in thought. He puts his hand in Gladio's and gracefully rises to his feet. "Thank you," he murmurs.

Gladio smiles and reaches out to gently scrape a drying flake of his come off of Ignis's cheek. "Ain't gonna make you grovel," he says.

Ignis exhales with a shaky smile. "The thought is appreciated. Though I'll… go back to not speaking now, if that's quite alright."

"You got it," Gladio says, putting his hand in the small of Ignis's back and walking with him to the center of the living room. Noct's turned on the game and pushed the coffee table back, leaving enough room for a man to kneel in front of the couch.

Without speaking, Gladio takes the throw blanket off the couch and folds it into a rough mat shape before laying it on the floor. Ignis exchanges a look with Noctis as he sinks to his knees, then hands and knees, parallel to the couch.

Gladio crosses his arms and walks a slow circle around Ignis, considering him. "Is this new?" he asks, nudging Ignis with his foot and forcing him to brace or fall over. "Sturdy thing, isn't it? Kind of a weird stylistic choice though, considering…" Gladio gestures to Noctis, "...you."

Noctis flushes and scowls, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I… uh…" he stammers, looking clearly out of his comfort zone. Good; Gladio practically lives there, when it comes to Noctis. "It's…"

Gladio regards Ignis with disinterest. "It's definitely the upholstery," he supplies, and Noctis nods.

"Yeah, uh, the fabric's all wrong," he tries.

"It's usually removable on these kinds of models," Gladio coaches. "Why don't you give it a try?"

Noctis nods again, and comes around to kneel before Ignis. At his touch, Ignis smoothly rises so Noctis can unbutton his vest, which he does with care and with his eyes trained wondrously on Ignis's face.

Which, fine. Noctis isn't gonna get it right away, if he wants to get it at all, and the point was to get Ignis to lay down his burdens for little while. Gladio lets them have their moment from a distance, watching as Noctis removes Ignis's vest, and his button-down, and how they move together to get Ignis's pants and underwear off without him having to rise from his knees.

It'd be easy, for someone to look at the arrangement they've made and assume that Noct's and Ignis's relationship was unsatisfying, just because they're incompatible in this real specific way. But not everyone has front row seats to this show—not everyone can see the way Noctis's attention makes Ignis's eyes crinkle at the edges, even when he's trying so hard to be still. Not everyone can see the careful way Noct touches Ignis, tentative but not reluctant or afraid.

When Ignis is totally bare, there's a moment when they're both on their knees facing each other, perfect opposites: Noctis still fully clothed in black, and Ignis skyclad with all his pale skin on display. Noctis leans in and quickly kisses Ignis on the cheek, brushing their noses together before rising. Ignis watches him as he stands, the perfect line of him looking up from his knees like he wants nothing else, then lowers himself to his hands again.

Noctis moves to the side, rubbing his mouth with the back of his knuckles in thought. Gladio catches his eye and flashes him a sarcastic thumbs-up, which Noct accepts with a _tch_.

Gladio lets out a big groan when he drops down onto the couch, like he'd been on his feet for hours instead of sitting still and getting his dick sucked, and swings his legs up to rest them over the bridge of Ignis's bare shoulderblades. He gestures to Noctis to sit, which he does, gingerly putting his feet on the more sturdy brace of Ignis's hips, leaving Ignis's spine unencumbered. Gladio can feel Ignis's back sway as he inhales, then exhales extremely slowly and lets his head hang.

"Do you wanna start, or me?" Gladio asks, gesturing for a controller. Noctis shoots him a dark look. "The _game_ ," Gladio drawls.

"I've got this," Noctis grouses, and pulls up the menu. "You have to be Atlassan, though."

Gladio laughs. "Oh, that's how it's gonna be, is it."

"He got buffed in this one," Noctis defends himself, scrolling through the character selection screen and picking out his favorite from the last version of the game. "It's not just bubbles all the time."

"Yeah, whatever," Gladio says, settling in on the couch. "You want me to wipe your ass while I'm healing it, too?"

"Shut up," Noctis says, sparing a glance at Ignis as the stage loads.

Not a lot's changed between games in the series, and Gladio quickly recovers his muscle memory for his character's chain heals and dutifully wades into battle after Noct's busty fox girl. It's hard to ignore Ignis's steady warmth under his feet, the small movements of the muscles in his back as he shifts his weight from palm to palm to avoid fatigue, but Noct mostly plays it safe, picking off the hordes of enemies with ranged weapons so Gladio can keep half his attention on Ignis.

Not that Ignis needs it. He stays perfectly still under their feet, breathing in measured increments like he's trying to slip back into that trance from before. It's harder, obviously, supporting himself instead of being supported by Gladio. Despite it being probably more chilly than is strictly comfortable for a naked person, beads of sweat form on his face and roll into his hairline.

Noctis makes a good show of it, but after a few waves it's pretty clear he does not in fact _got this_. "There's no way Atlas is buffed," Gladio complains as the game over screen comes up for the eighth time. "You're like wet tissue paper."

Noctis groans heavily and puts down the controller to put his face in his hands. "Fuckin' _Six_ , Gladio, can I _please_ touch my fucking boyfriend now," he curses.

Gladio laughs, reaching over to clap Noctis on the back. "Well, shit, don't let me stop you!" he crows.

Noctis mutters some _choice_ words about the sexual proclivities of the Astrals under his breath as he slides off the couch, getting to his knees behind Ignis. One hand works his fly and gets his dick out while the other spreads across Ignis's hip, and he leans in to press a sloppy kiss to Ignis's lower back.

Gladio's legs drop slightly as Ignis bends into it, so Gladio shoves one foot under Ignis's chest and unceremoniously props him back up. Ignis moans a little at the rough treatment combined with Noct's more solicitous touch, but braces his arms again. 

Meanwhile, Noctis fishes something out from under the couch: a flip-top bottle of lube, which he uncaps with a quiet _ah-hah_ and upends over Ignis.

 _A real romantic_ Gladio thinks, putting down the controller to fold his arms against his chest as he watches. From the way Ignis's mouth falls open in a pretty little o-shape, though, it doesn't seem unwelcome. Ignis gasps as the first drizzle of cold lube slides between his asscheeks, rocking back a little as Noct scoops it up and pushes it into him with his finger.

"Mngh," Ignis manages as Noct gently starts to rock his finger in and out, his hands clenching where they're pressed against the floor. Gladio grinds his heel right between his shoulderblades in warning, and Ignis's mouth snaps shut as he remembers himself.

"Not too much," Gladio says. "I wanna see what this baby can do."

"Yeah," Noctis agrees, staring down at Ignis's bowed back with an intensity Gladio rarely sees from him outside of the sparring circle. "Yeah, fuck, okay," he says, slipping a second finger in for a few inquisitive thrusts before removing them entirely.

Noct coats himself in more lube and squares up. Gladio can tell the moment he breaches Ignis from the way it cascades up Ignis like a wave, tension pulling his body tight like a wound spring. Slow, so fucking slow—so Noctis has done this before; he's not a total loss—he inches his cock into Ignis, letting Ignis open up around him. Ignis breathes through his nose heavily as his arms start to shake, his eyes screwed up tightly, but Noctis always waits when the tension peaks and lets Ignis relax into it during the valleys, admitting Noctis at his own speed.

Gladio whistles in appreciation when Noctis is finally flush with Ignis, and Noctis lets out a high, shaky laugh. He thrusts experimentally a few times, real shallow, then pulls out to recoat himself with lube. On the second go, his dick sinks smoothly into Ignis all in one motion.

"Oh, Six," Noctis whispers, "He's—it's—it's so tight."

Gladio slips his hand into his sweats and cups himself, stroking lightly. Probably little chance he'll get hard again just from watching, but it still feels good. There's worse ways to pass the time than touching your dick while two people you like are fucking in front of you, at any rate.

Noctis sets a steady pace—not so slow that it gets all soft and romantic, but not so fast that Gladio can't apply a bit of downward pressure to keep Ignis from rocking forward on each thrust. The breath comes out of Ignis's clenched teeth in huffs as Noctis fucks him, eventually giving way to an uncontrollable stream of breathy _ah, ah, ah_ noises. Gladio doesn't bother shushing him this time.

Emboldened by the lack of response, Ignis's mouth falls open and he moans continuously as Noctis picks up speed, right on that knife's edge of pain and pleasure from the purposefully lackluster preparation. Gladio knows that well—not just in this, but every time he pushes his own body to the limits: wanting so desperately for it to be over so the discomfort stops, but at the same time putting yourself at the mercy of a higher power who demands you continue.

Noctis curls up over Ignis as he starts to lose the rhythm, swept up in his inevitable release. One of his arms wraps around Ignis to stroke him, though Ignis cries out and twists away from his hand. Moments later, Noctis's face scrunches up as he comes, gasping his pleasure into the middle of Ignis's back.

For a few long moments they stay like that, Noct curled over Ignis, his arms wrapped around Ignis's torso as he comes down—then Ignis groans gratefully, deep in his belly, as Noctis gingerly pulls out. Noct runs his hands up and down Ignis's bare flanks, and Ignis hangs his head, breathing hard.

Gladio puts his feet on the ground and leans forward, clasping the back of Ignis's neck in one big hand and rubbing under his ear. "Hey," he says, "you wanna come back?"

Ignis's face shutters and he nods, tightly, not opening his eyes. "Yes," he says, his voice thick.

Gladio strokes from Ignis's neck down the tense line of his shoulder. "You got it in you to come?"

Ignis goes still a moment, then reaches down to touch himself where he hangs, half-hard, between his legs. "...perhaps," he says, tentatively stroking himself.

Noct perks up at that, pushing Ignis until he rolls over on his back. Gladio drops a pillow down for their heads as Noctis lies down beside, one leg hooked over one of Ignis's thighs, and kisses him deeply. Ignis makes a wondering noise and wraps his arm around to cradle Noctis against his body, and their free hands join on Ignis's cock.

Gladio tucks his feet up on the couch, out of the way, as Noctis kisses Ignis with all the passion and grace of someone who's recently come. Ignis arches up into it, bracing his feet on the floor as Noct takes over, Ignis’s free hand coming up to cup Noctis’s face. They make out messily, like Gladio’s ceased to exist in their world.

Noctis breaks away to kiss down Ignis’s neck, his hand still working between them with a purpose, freeing Ignis to swallow back his gasps as he writhes suspended between two states: the deep calm where he’s been put, like a toy back on its shelf; and the release of an orgasm that seems farther and farther away with each passing minute.

Gladio rolls over onto his side on the couch, catching Ignis’s attention. Their eyes meet. Ignis, floundering in that liminal space, reaches one hand out to Gladio. Gladio links their fingers and rubs Ignis’s palm with his thumb, projecting calm; Ignis’s eyes close as he turns to press a tired kiss to Noct’s forehead.

"Yeah, that's it," Gladio murmurs, as Noctis's hand slows. "Let it go, just relax."

Noctis pulls himself up to kiss Ignis again, close-mouthed and tender, as he changes his grip to caress Ignis' softening member with only his thumb and forefinger. Ignis lets out a sigh, his body relaxing in increments until he's gone lax against Noctis, who gradually slows his pace until he's simply petting Ignis all over: his chest, his stomach, over his cock lying quiescent in the crease of his groin, down his thighs.

"My apologies," Ignis says, still without opening his eyes. "I should have—"

"No—" Gladio begins to interrupt, but Noctis prefers the direct approach: kissing Ignis so deeply that the rest of what he says is just muffled noise. Well, that works; when Noctis lets them both up for air, Ignis looks dazed and content.

"You did good," Noctis says, plainly, and the contentedness on Ignis's face blooms into actual happiness, one of Ignis's rare genuine smiles. It changes his face entirely, erasing years of tension from him. He slips his hand from Gladio's and runs it over Noctis's features, rapturous, then pulls him in for another kiss. 

When they break, it's only to lie with their foreheads together like reflections in a pond. Though, eventually, Ignis is the one to break. "Did you really finish those edits to the report," he asks.

Noctis lets out a huffy little groan. "Yes," he replies.

"And I really did proofread his essay," Gladio adds, "so if you're just in the mood to make work for yourself, knock yourself out."

Ignis waves his hand in the air. "No, no, that's quite all right. It wouldn't be polite to undo all your hard labours. I will prepare Noctis on his way to the meeting with the Councilwoman."

"Gods, does that mean we're actually done for tonight?" Noctis asks. He pushes himself up and peers into the kitchen, at the clock on the microwave. "And it's not even midnight? Wow, we're gonna get a whole six hours tonight, Ignis."

Ignis's smile is fond. "A luxury worth a king's ransom," he says, and doesn't move even a little to rise up from the floor.

Gladio knows when it's time to make his exit, though. He sits up on the couch and straightens his clothing. "I'll lock up so you two don't have to move yet. You want a blanket, or…?"

He doesn't catch Noct's expression, but he does catch the look that passes between them and the poignant beat of silence that follows.

"It would be… inelegant to turn you out at this hour, after everything that's transpired," Ignis says. "And, not to mention, ungrateful."

"Yeah," Noctis adds, "I have, like, a whole guest bedroom that Ignis supposedly uses when he _needs to stay late_." His fingers curl sarcastically around the last few words.

"Unfortunately for you both, I do not also fold out into a bed," Ignis adds, airily.

"I… that's…" Gladio starts, then laughs a little, "That's alright. I usually get out pretty quick. It's fine."

Noctis, who's certainly not in a position to judge Gladio for his choices, crinkles his nose. "You just… leave? What if you, like… want to just sleep afterwards, or whatever?"

" _Some_ of us can keep it together longer than five minutes after they come, your Highness," Gladio deflects, but there's a glint in Ignis's eye like he know he's finally going to strike a point.

"I insist, Gladio," he says, sitting up from the floor to touch Gladio on the knee. "Stay over, if only to debrief in the morning over breakfast."

Gladio curses Ignis's knowledge of how to put the screws in him: _responsibility_. "Fine," he says, "But I _am_ taking the guest bedroom. No funny business."

"We wouldn't dream of it," Ignis says.

They drag themselves to their respective rooms a few minutes later, lingering between the two doors when there's a moment where no one can decide if a goodnight hug is appropriate or not given the circumstances. Gladio claps them both on the back instead and slips into his room before it drags on too long. He throws himself onto the bed before taking off his clothes and is just about to consider not bothering at all when he hears his phone chime faintly in his pocket.

He fishes it out and checks the lockscreen. It's one from Ignis, reading simply _thank you_. While Gladio is processing that, a second one comes in: _There is an extra phone charger in the nightstand_.

Gladio laughs and rolls over, fishing out the end of the cord and plugging it in. And at that point, he may as well take off his clothes, so by the time he's under the covers he's stripped down to his boxers with a happily recharging phone in his hand. _No worries, get some sleep, doctor's orders,_ he types back out, then slides it under the pillow.

Whatever else there is to say, if anything, can wait until he's had some shut-eye.

He's asleep before the sounds of movement in the next room go quiet for the night.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me [on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/neomeruru) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! Just let me know where you put it, so I can make sure others see it too!


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